


Maybe, Baby

by justanothersong



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Babies, Choose Your Own Adventure, Choose Your Own Character, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Kid Fic, Pregnancy, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-01 14:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13296408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: A Choose-Your-Own-Avenger story; the Reader's unplanned pregnancy is revealed to the team. Questions and consequences ensue.Tony watched your expression for a long moment before calling out, “FRIDAY, what is the nature of the agent’s restriction?”“Tony, no!” you cried out, hands going to massage your temples at the sudden appearance of a tension headache. This was so not how you wanted this to go down.“The agent is restricted under the Health Code, Section Seven, Subsection Twelve: Pregnancy Protocols,” FRIDAY responded, cheerful as ever.





	1. Prologue: What?!

**Author's Note:**

> This is *absolutely* a pregnancy/baby fic. My friends keep having babies and my exposure to the Mombie virus has resulted in this idea, god help me.
> 
> Each chapter following the prologue will involve a different Reader/Avenger relationship. I'll add the relationship tags as the stories are posted. Currently planned are: Steve, Bucky, Bruce, Tony, and possibly Loki. Considering adding in others as well.

Tony was following you at a clipped pace, like a stray dog nipping at your heels. It was taking everything in you not to haul off and punch him, something you had thought about doing on more than one occasion but had never been quite so close to actually doing. He was going to drive you crazy before the day was out.

“Just leave it alone, Stark,” you hissed, trying to look nonchalant as you headed into the common lounge. You had hoped it would be deserted this time of day, so close to the dinner hour that surely the others would have wandered off, but much to your chagrin it seemed the full team was scattered about. 

“No, I want to know what makes you so damn special that you get to pick and choose your assignments,” Tony responded loudly, catching everyone’s interest. He spoke in a cheerful tone, clearly more invested in discovering the answer to this little mystery than truly upset about the turn of events.

“Tony, stop it,” you snapped, and not kindly. You regretted it immediately, knowing that him seeing that he was getting under your skin would only egg him on.

“Is there a problem?” Steve spoke up, brows knitted in concern. He was sitting at a side table, looking over some paperwork with Bucky. You knew they had been drowning in it as of late, the legal process of declaring each of them alive and well and entitled to honorable discharge from the military keeping them both wrapped up in enough forms to choke a horse.

“No, there’s no problem,” you said quickly.

Tony snorted. “Little Miss Extra-Special Agent here got pulled off next week’s operation in Myanmar and she won’t tell me why.”

Natasha, seated on the couch with her legs curled under her and an open paperback in her hand, huffed a low laugh. “Good for you,” she called out cheerfully. “Whatever you did to get out of it, I’d keep it up.” No one had wanted to do the Myanmar run; the local government wasn’t friendly to SHIELD and always found a way to complicate things.

You nearly growled in frustration. “I didn’t do anything!” you protested. “It’s just… it’s not… I mean, god damn Tony, can’t you just back off?!”

“I think it would be wise to leave the matter be,” Thor spoke up, oddly sage in his remark. You hadn’t even known he was earthbound, but there he sat next to Bruce, sharing a bowl of popcorn and apparently what had been a very animated discussion as you had arrived.

“If she doesn’t want to tell us, she doesn’t have to,” Bruce, ever the mediator, added. “Just let it go, Tony.”

“Nope,” Tony responded, popping the P sound in a childish, obnoxious manner. Eyes still trained on you, he grinned a little meanly. “FRIDAY,” he called. “Please pull up the roster for the Myanmar operation and place our little delinquent back on board.”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot do that,” the AI responded quickly. “The agent is currently on restricted duty and unable to take part in operations involving infiltration or expected combat situations.”

You groaned; every head in the room had turned at that. There were only two ways anyone landed on restriction: disciplinary or medical.

“Hey, are you okay?” Clint spoke up, as quiet as he could go. There were notes of concern in his voice, the same etched across every face in the room.

“I’m fine,” you responded quickly, hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not sick.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Then what did you do to get yourself restricted?” he asked, assuming some kind of hijinks had ensued, and more jealous that he hadn’t been invited to play than anything else.

“Please just let it go,” you repeated for the umpteenth time that evening.

Tony watched your expression for a long moment before calling out, “FRIDAY, what is the nature of the agent’s restriction?”

“Tony, no!” you cried out, hands going to massage your temples at the sudden appearance of a tension headache. This was so not how you wanted this to go down.

“The agent is restricted under the Health Code, Section Seven, Subsection Twelve: Pregnancy Protocols,” FRIDAY responded, cheerful as ever.

You squeezed your eyes shut and heard glass shatter somewhere in the room, followed by a resounding chorus of “What?!”


	2. That Night in Vienna (Steve Rogers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You felt like your world was crashing down around you. “So that’s it?” you asked. “Just like that?”
> 
> Steve sighed heavily and said your name. “Please,” he told you quietly. “This is hard enough for me, please just…”

Steve stood up so quickly that his chair slammed back, hitting the plate of the window beside the table were he sat and breaking a decent size hole in the glass.

“Pregnant?” he repeated, disbelieving.

You sighed heavily. This was not how you wanted to do this; this was so far from how you had wanted this to come out that you could scream out of sheer frustration.

“Hold up there, Capsicle, no lectures about staying locked shut at the knees,” Tony crowed, clearly enjoying the mildly chaotic and clearly stunned atmosphere. “The lady obviously is a little past an abstinence-only lecture.

Steve ignored him, stepping around the table and circling the sofa to reach you. Your hands were shaking and your knees felt a little wobbly. He took your hands in his, standing close enough to have to peer down at you; he always made you feel so small, dwarfed by his height and the broadness of his shoulders. Small, but safe. Protected.

Cherished even.

“A baby?” he asked, voice dropped so low that you wondered if the others even heard.

You nodded, biting your lip. His expression was unreadable, but that wasn’t new. Steve was a master at masking his emotions when he felt that he needed to. After all, he hid what he was feeling from you for so long, up until a few months ago.

 

Working with the Avengers wasn’t easy. It was a life fraught with danger, where friends and family and social lives were sacrificed for a greater good, and you had to be ready to jump into the fray at any moment. It was also a life spent alongside the very best people you had ever known, the quiet moments together worth the life outside of it all that you were giving up. 

You weren’t officially on the team, still just an agent of the reformed SHIELD on paper, but you worked well with them and they kept you on standby. If there was any assembling to happen, you were right there with them. You even had your own suite at the complex Tony had built outside of the city.

Which was how you found yourself curled up on the couch in Steve’s quarters on a Sunday night, bathed in the glow of his television set. After moving in, your favorite past time had quickly become helping Steve fill in the gaps of his pop culture knowledge. Bucky was fine with just experiencing things as they came, but Steve seemed determined to dive headfirst into everything he had missed. Over the two years you had been living at the compound full time, you’d done what you could to help him cross a few more things off his list.

That day had been a marathon of Robin Hood films, beginning with Erroll Flynn (“I did see this one, you know,” Steve had pointed out; you just shushed him) and ending with Russell Crowe. By then you had nodded off, and when you woke to the sound of the end credits, you realized you had cuddled up to Steve in your sleep, your head pressed against his chest and his arm around your shoulders.

You yawned. “Sorry,” you mumbled, a little bleary-eyed. “Was I snoring?”

“Not at all,” Steve replied seriously, but even in the dim light you could see the laughter in his eyes.

You arched an eyebrow. “Liar,” you accused.

He threw his head back and laughed. “Okay, okay, you got me,” he relented, the mirth that had been dancing in his gaze settling into a grin on his lips. “You did, a little. But it was quiet. Kinda cute.”

You elbowed him and groaned, sitting up to stretch. “I guess we should call it a night. I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I get some feeling back in my legs,” you told him, uncurling your legs from beneath you and wincing at the pins and needles.

“You’re all the way on the other side of the compound, doll,” Steve pointed out, pausing to yawn. “May as well just camp out here. You can have the bed, I’ll stretch out here on the couch.”

Your first instinct was to tell him it was a silly idea, that you could handle the walk back to your place, but you glanced and the clock on his cable receiver and felt even more exhausted at noting the time.

“I couldn’t throw you out of your own bed, Steve,” you replied quietly. You could feel his eyes on you then, the weight of his stare causing something to stir low in your belly. You knew where this was heading -- you both knew where this was heading. Now it just remained to be seen if either of you would stop it.

“‘Could always just bunk with me, then,” he told you, voice low, a little rougher than it had been only moments before. You had to pause to steady your breath for a brief moment before responding.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding and biting your lip. “Yeah I’d… that’s fine.”

 

Before you knew what was happening, you found yourself standing in Steve’s bathroom and staring at your reflection, wondering if you were making the right decision.

One of the biggest perks of your job was being able to call Steve your friend. If this went bad -- if you were making the wrong assumption, or you were making the right one and it fizzled too fast -- you could lose that. Just the thought of not having these quiet nights, curled up on the couch next to him, just enjoying each other’s company.

But then you thought of all that you could gain, and felt a slow warmth fill your chest, all of the sleepiness you had felt just moments before drifted away. Working with Steve Rogers had taught you many things, but none so important as the payoff you could receive in taking a calculated risk. Hold your ground and hope for the best, or jump into the fray? It was a choice you made almost every day. 

You swallowed hard and stripped off your jeans and socks; you’d left your shoes by the door when you came in. With a deep breath, you unhooked your bra and slid it out through the sleeve of your t-shirt, resting it on top your now neatly folded jeans. Glancing at your expression in the mirror, you almost laughed; you looked terrified. 

How silly was that? If nothing else, if you were wrong, Steve would let you down gently.

You let down your hair and ran your fingers through the strands to loosen any tangles, then, on a hunch, opened the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet. There, tucked down on a low shelf, was an unassuming little black and gold box of condoms. There was something reassuring in finding it factory sealed, and slipped a few into your hand before shutting the mirror. Taking another deep breath, you opened the bathroom door and turned out the light.

The bathroom opened directly into Steve’s bedroom, a design flaw for visitors to be sure, but you’d always felt a little twist in your stomach when you’d need to step through the cool dark room to reach it. It was so very much like Steve, blonde wood furniture and dark blue linens, the scents of his cologne and just a hint of sweat always lingering in the air. This was the first time you’d be there with him.

“Find everything you needed?” Steve asked, voice quiet. He was already in bed, stripped down to his usual sleep attire of boxer briefs and slipped between the dark sheets, half-propped up against the headboard. He’d kept to the right side of the bed, leaving the left open for you to climb in, but you decided right then and there that if this was happening, you were taking the direct route. 

“I did,” you agreed, not missing the way his eyes drifted up your legs as you moved through the room, slipping over the pair of pink panties covered in a faded print of daisies that you wouldn’t have chosen had you had any idea where this night was going. Your languid step gave way to a more determined gait, and Steve’s eyes widened when you pulled back the coverlet and climbed into his lap.

He didn’t speak, only drew in a sharp breath before you kissed him. He was still for such a long moment that you thought you had misjudged the situation and moved to pull away, but then you heard Steve groan, low and deep in his throat, and his lips began moving against yours. His hands moved up your thighs, just high enough that his thumbs slipped beneath the fabric of your panties, gently caressing your skin as you guided the kiss. When you pulled away, Steve whimpered just softly and his lips moved to follow yours; you couldn’t help but smile.

“This is where we were going tonight, isn’t it?” you asked, voice light and a little breathless.

Steve licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, I mean, I’d hoped… I’d hoped so.”

“I don’t see why we have to pretend it wasn’t,” you told him, heart hammering in your chest. There was still that fear of rejection, even as you sat half-dressed in his lap, his interest in the proceedings more than evident, pressing hot and hard against you.

You dropped the condoms from your hand onto the bed beside you, and reached up to pull of your t-shirt and throw it aside. Steve’s hands were moving on you almost immediately, drifting up your sides to settle beneath your breasts.

Steve said your name, the word coming out in a low, tortured groan. “Look at you,” he said. “So gorgeous… better than I ever imagined.”

You bit your lip, wanting to tease him for his words, the idea that he imagined you this way, that perhaps you were playing out some secret fantasy almost too much ont to to, but the way he brushed his lips across your nipples seemed to steal your breath. You closed your eyes and sighed, focusing on the feeling of his large, strong hands on your skin, grinding down against him to search for a little relief.

“Want you,” Steve whispered, and you gasped, opening your eyes when you felt the softness of his lips between your breasts. You tangled your fingers in his hair and moaned. “Always wanted you,” he continued, nuzzling against you and pausing to mouth at the swell of your breast. “So beautiful. Drove me wild, havin’ you right there, not able to touch you, when all I wanted to do was make you scream.” He bit down then, just a little, just sharp enough to make you cry out his name and roll your hips against him.

“Christ baby, I can feel you,” he muttered, arms tight around you. “I can feel how wet you are, just from this. Just from me gettin’ my hands on you.” He was right; your panties felt slick and tight against you, your body thrumming with need. 

“Please,” you said softly. “Please, Steve, I need you. Can’t wait anymore, please.”

He nearly growled at the sound of your voice, tightening his arms around you so quickly and rolling you to your back that it made you dizzy. You were pushing at his shorts, damp with his own arousal, as he searched blindly among the bedclothes for the condoms you had dropped. You shimmied out of your panties as his hand closed around the little foil packets and you couldn’t believe it -- that it was happening, that you were there, bare naked and half-thrown sideways across the bed, Steve touching you and kissing you and telling you how much he wanted you, hands fumbling to open the condom packets as you finally managed to divest him of the last of his clothing, and then you gasped.

You’d assumed he was big; you’d felt it before, half-sleepy arousal as you lounged on the couch, both of you pretending it wasn’t there, and tonight when you’d straddled his lap, but the sight of his cock, huge and hard, was more than a little daunting.

“Sorry, I -- the serum, and I wasn’t… I wasn’t exactly small before…” Steve said, stumbling over his words. The way he drifted from commanding and confident to sheepish and shy was enough to give you whiplash sometimes, but endearing and sweet all the same.

You smiled and arched up to kiss him, revelling at the feel of his tongue curling against yours and the twitch of his cock where it pressed up against your belly. You palmed him then, gently stroking with a featherlight touch and he moaned into your mouth.

“Please,” you mumbled against his lips. “Just… please, Steve. Need you. I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

 

You couldn’t help the strangled moan of his name that tore from your lips as he pushed inside of you. He seemed to pause, hesitant to press any further, until you whimpered and wrapped your legs around his trim waist, wordlessly begging for him to take you completely.

Steve moved slowly, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. “So hot, sweetheart… god, you feel so good…”

“More!” you gasped, feeling stretched and full and perfect, the welcome intrusion of his body on yours sending a torrent of sensations rolling through you. “Please, Steve, baby, I need more... “ You couldn’t find the right words to ask for what you needed, but he seemed to understand, pistoning his hips faster, thrusting harder than before.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. All you could do was feel, the motion of Steve moving inside you building pressure low and deep, almost perfect but not quite enough. You gasped and mumbled with every rock of his hips: telling him how much you wanted this, how long you’ve waited. The words slipped out but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, whispering that you loved him, that you loved this, that you never wanted it to end. Every word you said seemed to make him gasp and shake.

“Fuck,” he finally grunted, stealing a sloppy open-mouthed kiss before just breathing against your mouth. “Fuck,” he said again. “God, darlin’, me too, all the time we wasted, all the… fuck… m’not gonna last, I… I…”

“Steve, please…!” you gasped out, and you felt his strong hand moving between the sweat-slicked skin of your bodies before dipping low to pinch and roll his thumb over your clit until you tipped over the edge, climaxing with a cry. Your body spasmed and tightened around him and you watched him tumble with you, eyes squeezed shut, lips quivering on a long, drawn-out moan for your name.

You were trembling, still trying to catch your breath, when Steve began moving. The condom was quickly disposed of; he lifted you up easily and pulled back the covers, righting you on the bed before sliding in beside you and pulling the coverlet up over you both. There was a brightness to his eyes as he held you close, a slow, easy smile on his lips.

He pressed his forehead to yours. “Did that really just happen?” he asked.

“My legs still feel like jelly, so I’d say it probably did,” you teased and his boyish grin grew, the flush in his cheeks more from his sheepishness than any exertion.

He kissed you then, soft slow, and you fell gently to sleep, wrapped up in his arms.

 

The weeks that followed were fun. Outwardly, your relationship hadn’t changed; the rest of the team knew well of your friendship and didn’t blink an eye at the time you spent together. You leaned into him on the couch and he’d wrap an arm around your shoulders; he’d tease you during training exercises, landing tickles and tweaks of your nose rather than hits, and no one would pay it any mind when you’d laugh.

Even when you’d disappear for hours at a time, they’d think you were just playing at the same old game, teaching him about films and music he had missed out on.

Bucky knew, of course; Steve wouldn’t keep anything from him, and they practically lived in each other’s pockets at times. It wasn’t long before he found you stretched out on top of Steve on his couch, the television playing a movie neither of you care about, Steve’s hands groping at your ass through your jeans. Bucky had just laughed, given you an approving sort of smile and promised his secrecy before leaving.

You were certain Natasha had an idea of what was going on as well, though she never said, and if she knew, surely she told Clint. It didn’t matter; it was fun to keep it quiet, to sneak around and steal moments together.

And then it happened. A routine mission, a firefight. Steve had his eyes on you throughout the fight and when he threw his shield to take out an unfriendly behind you, it hooked and hit a support beam, sending a load of debris falling on Bucky and Sam.

They were fine, just cuts and bruises, but Steve was rattled.

“We can’t do this,” he told you solemnly that night. “All I could see out there was you, in trouble. I can’t be compromised in the field like that.”

You felt like your world was crashing down around you. “So that’s it?” you asked. “Just like that?”

Steve sighed heavily and said your name. “Please,” he told you quietly. “This is hard enough for me, please just…”

You barked a laugh, hard and angry, trying to pretend there weren’t tears streaming down your face. “Right, fine, sure thing _Captain_ ,” you said, standing and stalking towards the door. “That’s just fine, just throw me away, just like that.”

“I’m not…” he started, pain evident in his voice. “It’s not like that, I wouldn’t do this if I could find another way around it, you know how I feel about you.”

“Yeah I thought I did,” you snapped, and slammed the door behind you. You tried to stay angry, but you still cried yourself to sleep that night, and many nights after. 

 

You started keeping to yourself, avoiding him as best you could. Weeks passed, then months. You felt hollow and empty inside; before, when you were upset, Steve was the one you would have gone to. Even before you had become lovers, he was your friend, your rock. Now it felt as though you had nothing and no one, just a job to do.

If you weren’t on a mission, you were training for one. If you weren’t training, you were sleeping. No more movie nights. No more playful sparring. Just work, and sleep. It was quiet and lonely, but it was better than the alternative -- being around Steve, not being able to share a secret smile, not being able to touch.

The Vienna operation came up suddenly and you immediately protested your inclusion. You lobbied hard for Natasha to take your place, but Coulson nixed it. She was too recognizable now, he explained; she would need a wig and a prosthetic disguise. You weren’t a headliner, not an ‘Avenger’ but still wholly capable of playing the right role -- with Steve in tow, starring in the little passion play as himself.

You didn’t know the details of the gala, only that it was an annual event that purported to be a charitable endeavor, the funds raised going towards this or that children’s charity in central Europe. Steve had been invited -- asking Captain America to put in an appearance at a charity event was very much de rigeur -- and would be attending. Typically he would just send a check to such an affair, not one for facing down red carpets and rooms full of posturing sycophants, but SHIELD had garnered the intel that a shadowy organization taking root in the Ukraine was propping up an army general, trying to paint him as a wise, altruistic soul, with the long term aim of placing him at the head of a coup. There was also going to be an information drop afterwards, the general sharing classified information with whatever group was holding the puppet strings. Steve was attending as a guest, to keep an eye on the crowd and watch for anything specific. 

Your cover for the event was a far cry from Steve’s; apart from its apparent appeal as a meeting place for shady government officials, the gala had garnered a rather prurient reputation in recent years. Rumor held that it was also full of call girls, ready and willing to service anyone who named the right price. The fact that Tony had been able to confirm the rumor without any further intel had raised a few eyebrows. While Steve held polite conversation with the other attendees, you’d flit through the crowd and work on the general. You’d laugh and be coy, convince the general that he could afford you, and once you had his trust, you’d slip him a sedative, lift his room key, and steal the flash drive of classified information from his hotel room.

Afterwards, you’d return to the gala, and leave on Steve’s arm. It seemed the perfect plan. Except for the part where you were working one on one with Steve, sharing a hotel room for the night, and playing the part of the hapless boy scout entangled with a hooker for the evening. SHIELD would pay appropriate hush money to quiet the ‘scandal’, and no one would be any the wiser. It would just be abject misery for you.

 

You readied yourself off-site, arriving well after the gala had started. You were stopped at the door, of course, but you offered the security team a shy smile and a rolled bundle of Euros and told them you didn’t have an invitation and were only there to work. They responded with a lecherous round of grins in return and allowed you to pass.

You spotted Steve immediately; he had a small audience surrounding him, seeming to hang on his every word. It only took a glance for you to know that he was miserable. His smiles never reached his eyes and they didn’t seem to give him a moment to pause, even for a drink. There were two or three working girls on the fringes of his little court, and it was clear from the enthralled looks on their faces that they were more than ready to offer up a freebie. 

His eyes met yours across the floor and you quickly turned away, gritting your teeth and setting to work.

You sauntered through the Vienna Mosaic Hall of the Palais Coburg like you belonged. You certainly looked the part; your hair was teased into bouncy curls hanging down your back and you were draped in glittering glass jewels, hanging from your ears and dressed tight around your throat. The diamonds were fake but the dress was certainly real, a designer gown of deep red velvet, with a tightened sweetheart bodice and a long, flowing skirt. You turned heads as you went, doing your best to suppress a smile; at least you cleaned up well, you thought. 

The general was a moron. Whoever was attempting to place him at the head of a new government was clearly looking for a puppet. He seemed to completely forget himself, or why he was even there; he spent the entire time pawing at you, leering, and pushing you to meet him in his room. You had meant to ply him a little longer, wheedle out as much information as you could, but you couldn’t take it; even his rancid breath was enough to make you ill. You had his key in your palm before he so much as blinked, and the sedative in his drink with barely a flick of your wrist. 

You excused yourself to the powder room and stepped out of the ballroom, drifting towards the elevator unbothered by staff or partygoer. You were back in less than ten minutes, the flash drives already copied by the small Stark tech device you carried in your clutch. When you returned, the general had passed out at the bar and his lackeys were trying to wake him. You drifted immediately towards Steve, pushing your way through the throng that surrounded him and gently touching his arm.

“Captain Rogers,” you purred, in your best attempt at an Austrian accent. “It is an honor and a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Steve turned towards you with a friendly smile. “I’m sure the pleasure is all mine, miss,” he said, and you gave him a slow smile.

“It certainly doesn’t have to be,” you told him, and the other working girls towards the edge of the crowd seemed to pout and slip away, watching the way Steve flushed at your comment. They knew that they didn’t have a chance -- as though they ever did.

You made a few circuits of the floor, dancing a little and chatting here and there, your arm firmly entangled with his. You never spoke to each other, not really, when you were left alone; only when someone approached did you play your little game, coquettish giggles and smiles while Steve spoke to the other guest in an open and friendly manner. He played the rube, as though he had no idea you were a call girl. When a few sympathetic guests tried to warn him, he pretended not to understand.

When the night wound down and you walked out of the ballroom on Steve’s arm, you couldn’t help yourself: you shot a smirk over your shoulder at a few of his hangers-on, standing at the ballroom door with sour expressions.

Steve didn’t let go of your arm until you disappeared behind the door of his room and you wrenched yourself away. It had been a little too much -- being so close to him, letting him touch you and smile and flirt. It hurt, an icy cold little ache deep in your heart. You wished more than anything that they had pulled someone else for this job. You just wanted to be home in your own bed at the compound, where you could shut out the world and pretend everything was okay.

You didn’t see the way he watched you putter around the room -- a simple room, because Steve Rogers would not stay in an overpriced suite, no matter the occasion -- pulling off your earrings and trying to pretend it was just another job. That it wasn’t killing you to be this close, and still so far away.

“He put his hands on you,” Steve spoke up, voice low. It startled you from your thoughts and you looked back at him from where you stood at the dresser, frowning.

“What did you say?” you asked, thinking you misheard.

Steve had thrown the coat of the tuxedo he wore over an armchair as you entered the room and his bowtie was thrown on the night table. His shirt was unbuttoned and he was fiddling with the cuffs as you looked back, refusing to meet your gaze.

“He put his hands on you,” Steve repeated. He undid the button on his right cuff and moved on to the left, taking steps towards you without looking up. “I had to stand there all night and watch as that… that… sleazebag touched you. The way he looked at you, I just… I just…”

“You what?” you replied, trying to sound flip. “I was doing my job, Captain. That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? To do our jobs.”

“Don’t call me that,” he told you, voice low and gruff. When he finally looked up to meet your gaze, you could see he was struggling. He tried to hide it, tried to slip on that brave, stalwart Captain America mask, but he couldn’t fool you, not anymore. His eyes were dark, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’d never call me that. Never, not since we met.”

“I can’t pretend we’re friends anymore,” you replied, cursing yourself silently as your voice shook. “I can’t just pretend that nothing ever happened between us, and go back to the way things were.”

“And you think that I can?” Steve replied. Before you had even a moment to formulate a response, he grabbed you roughly by the hips, pulling you forward so you crashed into his strong chest. “You think I haven’t been going crazy, all this time? Wantin’ nothing else but to take it all back, have you back in my arms? You don’t talk to me, won’t even look at me, and now, this, tonight… seeing the creep, pawin’ at you like a piece of meat… I can’t do this anymore, I can’t.”

You don’t know who moved first but suddenly you were kissing him, biting at his lips and moaning into his mouth, desperate for that connection and refusing to give it up until your lungs were burning and screaming for air. You felt frenzied and needy, your body like a tightly coiled wire just ready to spring free.

You didn’t care that Steve was loud and that the neighboring rooms must hear him moaning your name. You didn’t care that he had put a hand to the bodice of your dress and ripped it straight down, the hook and eye closures at the back too numerous and unyielding to be bothered with. He wanted skin to skin contact, needed it, and so did you. 

Tomorrow could bring with it an inescapable truth, that no matter how much you cared for one another there were so many things to think about before diving in headfirst once again, but tonight it didn’t matter. Tonight Steve was yours and you were his, and you would spend it in his arms, falling asleep with the taste of his kiss on your lips.

 

That had been months ago -- something like eleven weeks, to be exact. Steve had called into the SHIELD operations room early the next morning, saying he had spotted eyes on the hotel and you would both stay a day or two longer to keep up the charade. If anyone suspected the truth, nothing was said.’

Bucky gave you that soft, knowing half-smile when you returned to the compound, seeing the tension gone from Steve’s shoulders, the lightness in your step, and the way you would catch each other’s eyes and smile. You were still working on a solution for the work side of things but you had decided to resume your relationship.

“I love you,” Steve told you, that night in Vienna. “I’m not giving you up. I’m not sacrificing anything else.”

Now here you stood, face to face in the common lounge with so many sets of eyes staring at you, wondering at the display before them. You hadn’t wanted to tell him like this, wanted it to be private, when you were certain, but Tony had forced your hand.

“A baby?” Steve asked again, like he couldn’t quite believe it. His mask was slipping; his expression was one of shock and wonder, his eyes gone wide. “And you’re… you want to…” he stammered, not knowing how to ask the question. You nodded, tears filling your eyes. You balled up a fist to wipe them away before they escaped.

“Yeah, I want to,” you told him, voice a little thick with emotion. “I’m having the baby.”

“But when?” he asked, brow furrowed. You’d been so careful, always so careful… at least when you were home.

“Vienna,” you told him softly, and he reached a timid hand to flatten against your belly, already soft if not showing, that look of wonder still in his eyes.

“I knew it!” you heard Tony mutter, followed by a hushing sound that undoubtedly came from Bruce, but you couldn’t care less. All that mattered now was Steve, and the little life he had helped spark inside of you.

Suddenly his face fell, tears filling his eyes. “But what if it’s like me?” he asked, choking up on the question. “I was… the serum, it just changed me, it didn’t change… what I can pass down, I was so sick, and…” Steve was looking frantic, tears falling freely then.

“No, Steve, it’s fine, we’re fine,” you said, smiling through your own tears and reaching up to take his face in your hands. “Even if the baby was like you, like you used to be, I would never care. But I knew you’d be worried and there’s this test now, and Helen said she could do it safely even this early. It’s called an amniocentesis and it told us everything we could ever need to know. She’s fine, Steve, healthy and so, so strong.”

“‘She’?” he asked. “It’s… it’s a girl? I’m gonna have a daughter?”

You cast your eyes down. “You don’t have to, you know. We’d be fine on our own, if you weren’t ready or you need to…”

You never had a chance to finish the sentence, Steve scooping you up into his embrace, one arm holding the crook of your knees bridal-style and the other around your back, holding you close enough for him to kiss the breath out of you.

“A little girl,” he said, pressing his forehead against yours. “We’re gonna have a baby girl!”

The dam seemed to break with that, the room devolving into a chorus of rowdy catcalls and hollering.

“Attaboy, punk!” Bucky called laughingly, while Thor loudly thundered that there must be a toast to celebrate. Tony was rummaging behind the bar when Steve began to carry you away, and he frowned, holding a bottle of champagne and a few flutes in his hand.

“Where are you off to? We need to celebrate!” he called.

Steve didn’t even look back, pausing only to kiss you and murmur his love against your lips before calling back, “I’m taking my girls home!”


	3. Just Might Be (Bucky Barnes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was smiling again, even laughing on occasion. Steve was over the moon the first time Bucky cracked a joke, grinning over it for hours afterwards. And Bucky was glad -- he wanted to feel better. He wanted to feel human again. Sometimes it seemed like all around him were reminders of what he lacked, of what he couldn’t have.
> 
> You were another one of those reminders.

Bucky jerk involuntarily at FRIDAY’s sudden announcement, the elbow of his prosthetic arm slamming against the plate glass window beside the table where he and Steve sat, effectively shattering it, the motion sending the paperwork the two soldiers had been pouring over falling to the floor.

Tony frowned as he slipped behind the bar to prepare himself a drink. “You’re paying for that window, Barnes.”

“Jesus, Tony,” Bruce called from the floor, shaking his head. “Learn to read a room.”

Bucky was staring at you, lips barely parted, brow furrowed. Steve knelt to the floor and started cleaning up the paperwork that had fallen, you had hoped the others would have the decency to leave you alone for the conversation you were about to have, but while they averted their gazes and pretended not to be staring, it was clear no one was about to leave.

You heaved a sigh. “This isn’t… this isn’t how this was supposed to go,” you said.

“I guess me an’ you have a few things to talk about, don’t we doll?” Bucky spoke up, voice almost faint. He looked pale, eyes flitting from your face to your still flat midsection, his cybernetic hand clenched into a fist on the tabletop.

“Go to her, Buck,” Steve prodded quietly.

You laughed mirthlessly, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “It’s okay, Steve,” you told him, shaking your head. “Everything has already been made public knowledge, may as well have the last throwdown here.”

Bucky swallowed hard, eyes cast down to the floor, broad shoulders hunched. He couldn’t help himself, a myriad of dark thoughts racing through his brain, the same ones that had plagued him for so long. He had thought he had been free of them, thought he could live again, but they had descended upon him as though they had never gone.

 

Bucky Barnes came back to life in bits and pieces. The Soldier had been in control for so long that even when free of Hydra’s influence, he floundered as something in between: not the Asset, but not himself, stuck at some stopping point between the two where he could function but not really live. It helped, knowing his name. It gave him something to hold onto, something to tether him into the present when the darkness of his past came creeping back. 

But the process was slow. It was a long while before he really began feeling again, registering anything other than pain. His body’s healing factor had been a blessing in those days, when he didn’t really feel the cold that bit at his skin through the thin layers he wore more to hide from the rest of the world than to take any comfort from the weather. 

Once the dust had settled and he had moved in to share Steve’s quarters at the compound, he almost felt human again. He dressed for comfort and sometimes even style, and was eating for taste as well as sustenance and not just shoveling down whatever was available as quickly and efficiently as possible. 

He was smiling again, even laughing on occasion. Steve was over the moon the first time Bucky cracked a joke, grinning over it for hours afterwards. And Bucky was glad -- he wanted to feel better. He wanted to feel human again. Sometimes it seemed like all around him were reminders of what he lacked, of what he couldn’t have.

You were another one of those reminders.

 

Bucky was already moving at a swift pace down the corridor when you came out of your quarters and fell in step beside him, smiling in greeting. He gave you a tight smile and a nod in return. You weren’t terribly close -- Bucky never seemed completely comfortable with anyone but Steve, and occasionally Natasha -- but you very much liked him.

On his good days, he was funny, snarky as all hell and gently teasing in a way that always made you smile. His eyes, blue but sometimes silver in the right light, would sparkle with a bit of mischief and you’d grin in response, unable to help yourself. He’d tell stories about Steve, from when they were kids and the younger man was always getting himself into one scrape or another, that would leave everyone howling with laughter. 

And when it would get late, and Bucky would be tired, he’d become looser and relaxed. His accent would get thicker, that Brooklyn beat to his words that he couldn’t shake, and he’d call you things like darlin’ and sweetheart and once even dollbaby. You’d never liked that sort of thing, silly terms of endearment, but passing from his sweet lips and in that wonderful accent, they made you a little weak in the knees.

But you didn’t push. You knew he needed time. You wanted Bucky to learn how to be Bucky again before you made any advances, but you still gave him the occasional shy smile, a light touch on his arm, a lingering hug in greeting when he returned from a long mission, just so he knew you were there and the invitation was waiting for when he was ready.

“Hey Bucky,” you called cheerfully, reaching up to straighten your wig as you walked. It was pale lavender, cut into a short bob that fell just beneath your ears. Your own hair was rolled into a netted cap beneath it, not even a wisp showing. Your dress was a glittering take on an a-line mod shift dress from the 60’s: sleeveless with a high collar, a flowing skirt that ended a little higher than mid-thigh, and covered in silver sequins. You were barefoot, carrying a pair of silver spiked heels in your hand as you went.

Bucky nodded at you. “Going out with Natasha?” he asked, trying to make conversation.

You laughed. “Well I’m certainly not going to the gym dressed like this,” you teased.

You were young; so was Wanda. There were times that the two of you needed to get out into the world and blow off some steam. Natasha seemed to recognize this, appointing herself the de facto big sister of the two of you in deed if not in name, and made certain that you both had a chance to have a little fun.

“People don’t really look at faces,” she had told you both. “Eyewitness accounts are sketchy at best. It’s easy to hide in plain sight if you make one major change to your appearance.” That was where the wigs came in.

Sometimes you were a redhead. Sometimes Wanda was blonde. You would get a little crazier sometimes -- pinks and blues and purples. Natasha seemed partial to either black or white blonde, long and straight, paired with oversized black sunglasses and a mysterious air, speaking only in Russian while you and Wanda pretended to translate. The story was always the same: Natasha was a wealthy heiress who wanted to be left alone and people watch, and you and Wanda were her attendants, free to dance and drink with the crowd.

You had never been turned away from a club, and you had never been recognized.

Bucky flashed a rare smile. “Bet Stevie’d get a kick out of you sparring in that getup.”

You laughed again. “How about you?” you asked. “Want to teach me the finer points of hand to hand combat while I wear my sparkly dress and heels? Speaking of which…”

You paused and Bucky stopped beside you on instinct. You reached out to touch his arm with your free hand, stopping and pulling your hand back a few inches, looking to his eyes for his permission. No one touched Bucky unless it was welcome, and expected. Even a friendly pat on the back from Steve could be dangerous if the restless soldier didn’t know it was coming.

Bucky licked his lips and gave the smallest of nods, and you smile, bracing yourself on his strong forearm to stand on one foot and slip on your shoes.

“Ugh,” you groaned, squeezing your foot into the narrow toe and winding the strap up your ankle. “These heels are murder. I’d wear my combat boots out to dance if I could get away with it.”

Bucky frowned, watching you maneuver into your second shoe, holding his arm steady to help you keep your balance.

“Then why do you wear them?” he asked. Some things about women would never change, he thought, and he would never understand them. 

You winked at him. “Because they make my legs and my ass look great,” you replied, and released your hold on his arm. He stood stock still as you sauntered down the corridor, feeling his eyes on you as you went.

It was fun that night, out at some anonymous club that Natasha had found. She held court in the VIP section, keeping a watchful eye on the floor below where you and Wanda drank and danced and had fun. You stuck together on the floor, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention and not looking for a hook-up. You both just needed to relax, release some tension, and move to some good music for a little while.

Wanda wasn’t looking to meet anyone. She was still struggling to find a normal life outside of everything that had happened in Sokovia, and you understood that. You weren’t like the others in that respect, no tragedy in your past that guided the path you chose. You’d had a boring upbringing, living in an upper-lower-middle class home in a suburb of a major city; you got along with your family, and the only special skills or powers you had were by virtue of your extensive training.

You just wanted to help people -- that was what led you to SHIELD. But still, like Wanda, you weren’t looking to catch anyone’s eye. It was just for a different reason. Logically, you knew it was stupid to pin all of your hopes on Bucky -- he had such a long, hard road ahead of him. But you couldn’t help yourself. Anytime another man flashed a smile your way, all you could think was that it wasn’t half as charming as the small, timid smiles you would get from Bucky, or the even rarer, relaxed, full-on grins. No one else had eyes that particularly perfect shade of silver-blue, no one had those lovely pink lips or dusting of bristly stubble you longed to feel against your skin. No one made you feel like the most important person in the world whenever you they looked at you.

No, as far as you were concerned, you were off the market. 

 

You never realized how much Bucky was struggling. He felt like a schoolboy with a crush, watching you laugh and smile with the others and being so jealous that it clawed at his heart just from seeing it. He couldn’t help himself. Sometimes, Bucky longed to be the man that he once had been, the soldier with the easy smile who never had a hard time chatting up whatever pretty dame caught his eye. But he knew he couldn’t be that -- and that he wanted more than a brief dalliance. 

But he couldn’t trust himself. He couldn’t be certain he would never hurt you. And he couldn’t be certain that you wouldn’t recoil at his touch, be disgusted by the scar tissue. He had a new arm, specially made for him in Wakanda, black vibranium that moved with almost fluid ease, soundless without the clicks and snaps of plates moving into place like the monstrosity HYDRA had given him, but still.

It was… other. Not real. Not human. Still a foreign piece of him, still a danger.

While you danced the night away, he made his way to the compound’s training area, taking out his frustration on a punching bag. He tried to manage his movements, to keep tight control over the force behind his swings, but his frustration got the better of him and he found himself destroying a punching bag, just like Steve was wont to do.

The other man was there to see it, of course.

“Did you see her before she went out?” Steve asked quietly. He wasn’t blind, after all.

Bucky swallowed hard, brushing the mess of sawdust off of his cybernetic arm. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he grumbled.

Steve sighed and mentioned your name, watching the way Bucky’s shoulders slumped. “You should try talking to her sometime, Buck. Natasha seems to think she’s sweet on you.”

Bucky gave a mirthless laugh, turning to face his friend. “Yeah?” he replied, shaking his head with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Is that why she’s never said a word? Why she stops herself from doin’ so much as puttin’ a hand on my arm?”

“She’s bein’ polite, jerk,” Steve told him, frowning. “Nobody wants to push you into anything you’re not ready for, is all.”

Bucky shook his head again with a snort and fished a hair tie out of the pocket of his gym shorts. Pulling his hair out of his face and tying it back, he cast his eyes to the floor and the mess that was littered across it from the broken punching bag.

“Maybe I ain’t ever gonna be ready for anything like that,” he countered, voice dark and bitter. “Maybe I’m just too broken and fucked up, you ever think of that Stevie? I can want… I can want her as bad as I do but it doesn’t mean a good goddamn in the long run. She deserves better than me.”

Steve let out a low exhale of breath. “Jesus, Buck,” he said, shaking his head. They’d had this argument too many times -- he just didn’t know what to say anymore. He moved to retrieve a broom from a corner closet while Bucky picked up the tattered remains of the punching bag, the two of them working in silence to clean up the mess.  
You came home that night singing, half-stumbling and half-leaning on Wanda, the two of you breaking into a fit of giggles every time you messed up the words to whatever song it was you had heard on the radio on the ride back to the compound. Natasha followed, making a great show of rolling her eyes, but there was a simple fondness to the small smile on her face.

“Careful now, children,” she cautioned dryly. “Let’s not wake everyone up.”

The next day found you tired but in high spirits. Tony had theorized once or twice that you might have a low-level healing factor, mutagenic or perhaps even inhuman; you did find yourself sidelined with injuries from time to time, but never for long, and you never had a hangover.

You didn’t think too much about it.

Healing or not, your feet were aching, and you spent the day barefoot, stretched out on the couch in the common lounge with your legs crossed at the ankles. Those shoes had been gorgeous but deadly -- your toes were red and painful and your arches seemed to cramp with every step you took.

“Still think those shoes were the right call?” Bucky asked, startling you from your thoughts. You glanced towards the doorway and smile; you hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Beauty is pain, Bucky,” you told him with a laugh.

He moved towards the couch and tapped your calf; when you lifted your legs, he slid in beneath them, seemingly content when you nestled your feet in his lap.

“Then you, darlin’, must be hurtin’ something terrible,” he replied with a wink, and you felt your face flush deep red, your body suddenly warm all over.

Steve’s lecture had kept Bucky up for most of the night, the words he had heard time and again playing over and over in his mind. You were always friendly and kind to him, always quick with a smile and laugh when Bucky’s spirits were high. Maybe there was something there. He knew what he was feeling -- what he wanted, so badly that it hurt. Maybe. Just maybe…

Bucky had gotten out of bed that morning with a sense of purpose. He was going to try. He had to try.

You leaned up on your elbows and raised an eyebrow. “Why Sergeant Barnes, are you flirting with me?” you asked, tone coy as you could make it.

“Just might be,” Bucky responded with that slow half-smile of his, and then he touched you.

You couldn’t help the way you closed your eyes at his touch, or the soft sigh that escaped your lips. Bucky had taken your foot in his flesh hand, gently rubbing and kneading your sore skin and brushing his thumb just barely over the ticklish spot at the center of your foot. The rush of feeling his hand on you, coupled with the relief of your taut tortured muscles had you turning to putty in his hands. You made a soft pleased noise, your eyes squeezed shut, and you heard him laugh.

“Oooh, more please,” you said with a deep sigh.

“What?” Bucky asked, and you peeked open an eye to see him watching you, perplexed, his hand stilled against your foot.

“You got two hands there, soldier. Chop chop,” you said.

Bucky barked a deep laugh and you closed your eyes when you felt the cool touch of his cybernetic hand against your skin, moving in concert with his flesh hand.

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky told you, still rumbling with laughter.

You leaned back on the couch with a pleased sigh, your arms folded behind your head like a pillow, eyes fluttering shut again as you enjoyed the feeling of his touch. You didn’t see the way he smiled at you, or the interest sparked in his eyes when the motion of raising your arms above your head pulled up the hem of your t-shirt, exposing a strip of skin along your midsection. 

When Bucky moved his hands to your calves, sore from dancing in too-high heels, you made a soft noise, a high-pitched inhale that made his eyes darken and his hands grow more sure, more solid in his ministrations. You were blissfully unaware of the effect you were having on him, revelling in his touch and enjoying the way your whole body seemed to relax from it. You probably would have been content to just lay there all day, letting Bucky do as he pleased, if not for Tony’s interruption.

“You know, we have physical therapists and masseuses on staff for that kind of thing,” he announced airily as he entered the room. Just like that, you felt Bucky’s hands drop away from your legs and when you opened your eyes, they were folded in his lap, eyes cast down as though he had done something wrong.

Tony could do that, you knew. Make Bucky feel ashamed, make him feel the outsider. You knew things weren’t perfect between them -- you couldn’t imagine they ever would be -- but you disliked the way Tony would wield that power, for no reason at all.

You glared. “What do you want, Tony?” you demanded.

He chortled, rummaging behind the bar before emerging with a what looked like a bag of raisins. Tony ate like a bird, little bits and pieces throughout the day; you couldn’t remember the last time you saw him sit for a full meal. 

“Why do I have to want anything?” Tony asked. He seemed to meander around the room until he reached the window ledge, leaning against it and focusing his attention solely on you and Bucky. Popping some of the fruit in his mouth, Tony seemed to chew thoughtfully for a long moment before asking, “So is this a one-on-one session of handsy or can anyone get in on it?” he asked with a suggestive quirk to his eyebrow.

You groaned and Bucky gently lifted your legs from his lap before standing. Sometimes, Tony could be just a little bit too much. You knew that Bucky had reached his limit.

“I’ll catch you later, doll,” he told you quietly, then quickly left the room. 

You sat up and glared at Tony. “Thanks a lot, Stark,” you grumbled.

He seemed nonplussed. “What’s up with you and Frosty, kid?” he asked.

You immediately bristled and got to your feet. “What’s it to you?” you snapped. You had felt it in the air, before Tony’s rude interruption. Bucky was so close to opening up to you that you could practically taste it. Then the moment was completely ruined. You stalked angrily towards the doorway.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” Tony warned. You paused and glanced back at him over your shoulder. His face was drawn and serious, no trace of the teasing his voice had held only moments ago. “Can’t train the violence out of a bad dog. Eventually it’s gonna bite.”

Furious at the comparison, you could only glare. “Some dogs get bad raps,” you countered. “It’s the people around them that make them snap. I should know. My family raised pit bulls. I’m not worried.”

 

You searched every public space in the compound for Bucky, but he couldn’t be found. The only doors that stayed closed to anyone were the private rooms -- the small suites held by every member of the team, and the larger ones shared by Steve and Bucky on one end of the compound and Clint and Natasha on the other. Even the lab doors remained unlocked, the facility so secure that there was no need for that final safeguard.

There was only one place he could be.

You knocked tentatively at the door to the suite that Bucky shared with Steve. You had been invited in once or twice before, late night card games or binging a few episodes of The Wire, but there was no standing call for admittance. 

Steve answered the door, worried expression drawing into a smile when he saw you. “I was hoping you’d stop by,” he told you, opening the door wider to allow you admittance. You stepped in cautiously, not quite sure what you were walking into.

“Is he here?” you asked. The knowing look in Steve’s eyes when you arrived made it clear that you hadn’t needed to explain your purpose.

He nodded towards a closed door across the room. “Came barreling in a little while ago. Wouldn’t tell me what was going on. Had a feelin’ you might be involved.”

“Tony,” you said, and it was all Steve needed to hear. He shook his head and sighed, pushing a hand back through his hair.

“He goes out of his way to make things difficult sometimes, doesn’t he?” Steve asked.

You snorted. “Understatement of the year, Cap,” you replied.

“Why don’t you go see Bucky, maybe talk to him?” Steve suggested, nodding towards the door again. You heard something crash inside the room and you frowned.

“You think it’d help?” you asked, already taking a step towards Bucky’s door. You paused and glanced back at Steve, uncertain for a moment. “I don’t want to be a pest.”

“I think you’re just what he needs, if I’m being honest,” Steve replied, and moved to leave the suite. “You don’t have to be afraid of him. He’d never hurt you.”

You turned back towards Bucky’s door. “I’m not afraid,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Steve. You took a deep breath and headed to Bucky’s door, confidence growing with each step; you didn’t even notice Steve slip out into the corridor and close the door behind him.

 

On instinct, you chose not to knock. Bucky’s bedroom door was unlocked and the knob turned easily in your hand, the door swinging open to the sight of him sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. The remains of a small punching bag that had been hanging in the corner were scattered about the floor, the wooden base, chain, and remains of the round leather bag on the floor in a pile of glass. It looked as though he had ripped it down in frustration when it broke and thrown it across the room, right into the small television set which now boasted a completely shattered screen.

He croaked out your name, never looking up. “You should go,” he added. Of course he knew it was you, you thought; the cadence of your step, the sound of your breath. He must have known you were there from the moment you knocked on the front door.

“Why’s that?” you asked quietly.

“S’not safe,” Bucky mumbled. “I can’t… I’m not… you shouldn’t have to be around me. They’re all right. I’ll just hurt you.”

You sighed. “You won’t hurt me,” you told him, voice a little petulant and matter-of-fact.

He moved almost too quickly to see; before you could completely register what was happening, you were pressed against the wall beside the doorway, his cybernetic arm circling your throat but just barely touching your skin. He was breathing hard, sweat on his brow, eyes a little darker and a little wilder than you might have expected, but you refused to blink.

“You won’t hurt me,” you repeated stubbornly.

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” Bucky asked, and you nodded as best you could, frozen in place against the wall. He gave a mirthless laugh. “Then why is your heart beating out of your chest? I can hear it, doll. I can feel it. Your pulse is pounding.”

Your heart broke a little at his words. Is that what he thought? Is that what he believed, every time you stood too close and your heart began to hammer out a frantic beat.

“Bucky,” you quietly pleaded, reaching to take his flesh hand in yours. He didn’t fight you, only watched the movement, eyes widening when you pressed his hand to your breastbone, centered right where he could feel your heartbeat. “That’s not fear, Bucky. It’s never been fear.”

His breath was coming fast, breathing hard through his nose. This was it, you realized: this was the moment that would determine the rest of your relationship with this beautiful, broken man standing before you. You’d laid your feelings bare, and he knew what you were offering. It only stood not to see if he would take it.

Bucky surged forward and you expected a rough, claiming kiss, but his hand slipped away from your throat to settle on your hip, the first brushes of his lips against your so timid and sweet that you could swear your heart broke for him again. You reached up to touch his face, returning the softness of his kiss.

When he pulled away, just barely, just a hairsbreadth between his lips and yours, there was such a defenseless, hopeful and open expression on his face that it stole your breath away.

“Bucky,” you breathed softly, tracing his lips with your thumb. You couldn’t find the words to tell him -- how you had waited for him, how you knew he needed to find his way to you, how badly you wanted this -- and you hoped he could read it in your eyes. The small smile that broke on his face as he looked at you told you that he did.

He kissed you against, licking at the seam of your lips until you parted them to allow him entrance. You understood immediately why he had been considered a ladie’s man in his youth, the curl of his tongue against yours enough to send sparks flying, your toes curling in the thick plush carpet of his bedroom. 

“You sure about this doll?” he asked, words tumbling out between long wet kisses as your hands ran up his back beneath the soft cotton of the red t-shirt he wore. “S’been a long time for me, baby girl… don’t know if I could stop one we get started.” His lips drifted, mouthing at your jaw and then beneath your ear, tracing a path of fire down the side of your throat, pausing to nibble at the join of your collarbone.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, pressing your head back against the wall. “Don’t stop, Bucky, please don’t ever stop…!”

He was so gentle. You would have been surprised, if your blood wasn’t boiling in your veins, need and want thrumming a steady beat inside of you. Bucky scooped you up in his arms like you weighed nothing more than a feather, laying you down like something delicate and breakable.

For the longest time you just kissed and touched, Bucky reacquainting himself with what it meant to make love. You realized it must have been the first time he’d touched anyone so intimately since his mind had become his own again, the weight of that revelation settling not heavily on your shoulders.

It felt good. It felt right. But it had always been that way.

It was never just that Bucky was so handsome, with his dark hair and blue eyes, beautifully pouty lips and an aura of melancholy that drew you in like a moth to a flame. It was never that he was fit and sexy, a body that filled your mind with sin just by watching the movement of his muscles beneath his skin. That was all well and good, a fine cherry on top of the sundae, but it was always something more.

It was the way he put you at ease. The way a single smile could make your day. The way that even in your worst moments, the days when you wondering if your life was taking the right course, if you had made the right choices, that he could reassure you with a sympathetic glance and a large, warm hand on your shoulder.

You loved him -- because it was love, that warmth that bloomed in your chest whenever his eyes met yours -- simply because he was Bucky, your friend, your rock. You loved him not in spite of who he was and what he had done but because of it, because he worked so hard to find a way out of that darkness, grateful for every day he was allowed to walk in the light.

You loved him because you couldn’t remember anymore what it was not to love him; no matter what happened or where this thing between you went, some small part of you would always be completely and irrevocably in love with Bucky Barnes.

You pushed his hair out of his face, wanting to see his eyes and his expression as you slowly divested each other of clothing, those pesky layers of cotton and denim and nylon that prevented you from feeling the luxurious heat of skin against skin. You laughed at a little at the way his elegant fingers fumbled with the clasp of your bra and you helped him, smiling softly at the way he drew in a sharp breath when your breasts were bared to him, ducking to kiss and nibble wherever he could. 

His hand slipped between you, groaning when his fingertips breached the wetness at your core; you were ready for him, needing nothing more than to feel him. You whispered as much in his ear and he kissed you with a long, drawn-out groan.

“You sure?” he mumbled, licking he taste of your kiss from his lips. You could feel his considerable size pressing against your thigh and it only stoked the fire within you.

“Please, Buck,” you whispered. “Wanna feel you. Need it.”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he mumbled, and you spread your thighs a little wider in response, the length of him brushing against your overheated core. When he finally began to press inside of you, you gasped and arched your back, the feeling so intense that you dug your nails into his back, begging him not to go slow but to give you what you needed.

He was still so gentle. So slow. Moving soft and shallow until your body adjusted to his size. You were so full, a feeling almost of completeness as he filled you and he moaned your name, unable to stop himself. He began thrusting faster as you started to beg, unable to stop himself from babbling your name and how much he needed you, how good you felt, over and over until you were begging him to to take you over that edge, pulling him down to kiss you long and deep as the motion of his hips became fast and erratic.

You climaxed with his name on your lips, your cries so loud that you knew someone must have heard but you couldn’t bring himself to care. He followed just after, burying his face in your neck and groaning your name.

“Oh god,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Oh my god, sweetheart, that was… I never thought you could want this, that you could want me like this.”

“Just you wait and see, Bucky Barnes,” you warned him. “I’m not done with you yet.”

 

You were happy. Blissful even. In spite of the guarded way that Natasha watched him with you, in spite of the disapproving expressions that Tony often sent your way when you cuddled closer to Bucky on the couch, twined your fingers together, or dropped a kiss on his cheek. They didn’t understand him the way that you did. They couldn’t fathom how you knew with certainty that he’d never harm you. That he cared about you as deeply as you cared about him. Only Steve seemed to understand, and his support of your relationship was everything to Bucky. You were certain you could have been happy for a good long while, if you hadn’t noticed something that set your mind to worry.

You were late. And not just by a day or two, by weeks. That had never happened before; your cycle had been like clockwork beginning with the first spots of blood that appeared when you were twelve, ruining your favorite nightgown. Worried and not wanting to cause any uproar by making an appointment in the med bay, you instead turned to a friend.

If anyone could understand the way Bucky grappled with reigning in his darker instincts, it was Bruce Banner. When you told him about your problem, he agreed to run some tests and keep it all as confidential as possible. The results came back in a few hours, and he dropped the literal mother of all bombs right in your lap.

 

You stared at Bruce, completely dumbfounded. You knew he wasn’t a medical doctor by trade but most everyone at the compound trusted him with their care in a pinch. Even if his training wasn’t officially this sort of thing, you couldn’t think he could be so wrong as to make what he was telling you untrue.

But you still couldn’t quite believe.

“How?” you finally blurted. “I’m on the pill!”

Bruce gave a soft chuckle. “Under normal circumstances, I’d point out the point-one percent failure rating on pretty much every birth control pill on the market. It’s rate, but it happens. But in your case, I’m thinking it’s something else.”

“What? What could it possibly be?” you responded, shaking your head, mouth still slightly agape. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. This sort of thing was right out of some bad soap opera or trashy romance novel. You’d been careful, taken precautions. This kind of thing just didn’t happen to real people, or so you had thought.

“I know Tony’s told you about his healing factor theory,” Bruce began carefully. He took a seat on the rolling stool across from where you sat on the examination table.

You snorted. “Bruce, c’mon. I take my knocks in the field like everybody else, I’d know if I was some kind of mutant.”

“Your broke your ankle last year and it healed in two weeks,” Bruce told you flatly.

You shook your head. “I sprained my ankle,” you corrected.

“No, you didn’t,” Bruce insisted. You wanted to laugh, thinking it must be some grand joke he was playing on you, but his expression was too serious for that. “I’ve seen the films,” he continued. “Even checked back on them today to confirm my theory. You had three broken bones that should have taken at least six weeks to heal and you were back on your feet in a third of that time.”

Frowning, you shook your head. “I’d know if I…” you started to repeat.

“You don’t wear earrings,” Bruce interrupted. It wasn’t a question, but a simple statement of fact. “I can see the marks there on your earlobes where they must have been pierced, but you’ve never worn any that I can remember. Why is that?”

Your face grew hot; you knew immediately what he was getting at. “My mom let me pierce them when I was ten, but they closed up. I tried to redo them a few times in high school, and then a couple years ago but… it never takes. As soon as I take the post out, they’re closed up by the next morning.”

Bruce nodded, and gave you a sympathetic smile. “There’s nothing wrong with having a genetic mutation that protects you from harm,” he told you. “Nothing to be ashamed of. I know the word ‘mutant’ gets tossed around a lot, the news sometimes tries to make it a negative thing, but it’s not. It just proves that we’re still evolving as a species, getting stronger. Getting better.”

A few tears slipped from your eyes and you wiped them away with a balled fist. “Okay, fine,” you agreed, thinking of all the injuries that healed quickly, of all the times the flu or the chicken pox swept through your childhood classrooms, leaving you untouched. “Fine. Maybe I am a mutant. But I don’t see what it has to do with this.”

Bruce turned to the computer on the counter behind him and tapped a few keys, pulling up a microscopic image of what you thought might be blood cells. He gestured towards it.

“I took some liberties and ran a few tests,” he explained. “Your healing ability works a little differently than some others I’ve encountered. Fractures, cuts and bruises, that will all heal much more quickly for you than the average person, but there’s a secondary component. Your body is going to reject anything it views as foreign or harmful. A piercing is never going to properly take. You probably won’t be able to get a tattoo either.”  
You gave a tearful laugh and sniffled. “I tried,” you told him, shaking your head. “It just itched a lot, and then it was gone.”

Bruce smiled at you. “See? You already knew, didn’t you?”

You shrugged. “But birth control?” you asked. “It’s not supposed to be harmful.”

“On the face of things, it’s not,” Bruce agreed, nodding. “It doesn’t hurt you to use it and, as far as we know, doesn’t have any detrimental effects in the long run. But the mechanism is uses to work is to prevent a natural body process -- to stop your body from dropping an egg -- and when you have a healing ability that works to protect you, it’s gonna view something like that as an attempt at harm.”

“So basically it’s useless, is what you’re telling me?” you asked with a groan. This was all becoming a little too much to take. Pregnant. Mutant. Body turning medicine into placebos all on its own.

“In the future, you’d be better to rely on something like condoms, or spermicides,” Bruce counseled. He was blushing as he spoke; it had started to creep up his collar, a soft pink flush, when he began talking about eggs dropping. It made you smile a little, that the brilliant scientist could play with radiation and world-ending power but blush like a schoolgirl talking about sex.

“Yeah but that’s not going to help me now,” you pointed out.

Bruce nodded, clearly uncomfortable, and cleared his throat. “In this case if you wanted… if you were to choose to… you wouldn’t be able to go a medicinal route, you’d need an invasive procedure.”

You nodded and slid off the exam table. You had a lot to think about. “Thanks, Bruce. For telling me. For keeping it between us.”

He smiled and stood. “Of course,” he agreed. “Just know that if you, you know… whatever you decide, you’re going to need to see an actual medical doctor, sooner rather than later.”

 

That had been two weeks ago. You’d thought about it, long and hard, and made your decision. No matter what it might mean for your career with SHIELD, no matter what your family would think or what Bucky would say, you had realized that more than anything, you wanted this baby. It’s not like it had been some tawdry one-night stand; maybe you hadn’t been able to tell him yet, but you loved Bucky. Even though you were certain it was something he was nowhere near ready to handle, that you’d be doing this on your own, the idea that a small part of him now lived and grew inside you filled you with a warmth you hadn’t expected, once the shock and fear had drained away. You just had to find the right moment to tell him and, of course, Tony had to go and ruin that for you.

Bucky turned in his seat and held a hand out to you: an invitation. Physical closeness always seemed a comfort to him and you took him up on the offer without question, perching gently on his outstretched thigh.

Steve glanced up at the two of you and began to shoo everyone else out of the room.

“C’mon guys, give them some space,” he called, gesturing towards the doorway. Bruce and Thor were quick to leave, Clint and Natasha lingering a little behind but just as soon acquiescing. Tony looked good and ready to stay put for the long haul but a few whispered harsh words and a heavy hand on his arm seemed to persuade him to go.

“Fine,” he hissed out, wrenching his arm out of Steve’s grip and moving to the doorway. “Fine. But you’re cleaning up the mess if they start breaking shit. And he’s still paying for the damn window!”

Once they were gone, you turned to face Bucky, tears already filling your eyes. “Surprise!” you said weakly.

“You… you’re pregnant?” Bucky asked. There was caution in his voice, but no disbelief. He wanted to be certain, and that much you understood. You had needed to be sure of it yourself.

“Yeah, Bruce ran all the tests and I even did some from the drugstore to be sure,” you said, biting your lip.

“You were… you said we didn’t need to worry about anything, you were taking pills,” Bucky told you, brow furrowed. There was no accusation there, simply confusion. He knew you. He trusted you. “I saw you takin’em myself.”

You laughed, a harsh sound in the quiet of the lounge. “Yeah, well, apparently my body doesn’t like birth control. Bruce said it’s like a mutant thing. A healing thing. Whatever it is, it left me ripe and ready for you to knock me up.”

Bucky reached out a tentative hand, pausing a second before touching your stomach. You weren’t showing; it would be some time before that was an issue. But still he was drawn there, the mere thought of it enough to make him need to feel you, to touch.

“I thought that I couldn’t… the serum, and the… the torture,” Bucky stammered out, eyes wide and alight with wonder. “I was pretty sure I was shootin’ blanks as it was. Guess not.”

“Guess not,” you agreed.

“And you… you want to keep it?” Bucky asked, tone tentative, unsure. It was different now than it had been in his youth; those kind of things weren’t talked about, not in the open. He couldn’t begrudge you your choice, whatever it was. But he needed to ask. He needed to know.

“I’m keeping it,” you agreed quietly. “I had my first appointment with an obstetrician… didn’t even know we had one of those on staff. Went through all the paperwork. I have restricted duty for now and maternity leave lined up, time to recondition before deciding if I want to go back into the field. Childcare. Lots of options.”

"You sure about this, sweetheart?" he asked. His voice was strained and shaking, as though he didn't really want to know the answer. As if he already knew it. "You want to be havin' the Winter Soldier's baby?"

You shook your head. "No," you said honestly, and you felt him go tense beneath you. Taking his face gently in your hands, you tipped his eyes up to meet yours. "I want to have Bucky Barnes' baby."

"I'm not him anymore," he protested, casting his silvery blue eyes downwards, so he didn't have to meet your gaze. "I'm not the man I was, before they... before Hydra. I want to be that guy for you, I do, but I don't know how anymore."

"I don't want that guy, Buck," you said, and you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his forehead. "I want you. This guy, right here. The man you are now. Bucky Barnes, my Bucky. That's all I've ever wanted."

"But I'm..." he tried to protest, but you shook your head.

"People go to war all the time, Bucky. No one comes back unchanged," you told him. "Even if you hadn't been taken captive, you wouldn't have come back the same man. All that matters is the guy you are now -- the guy I can't help but love."

 

Your words seemed to break a dam inside of Bucky and he pressed his face to your middle, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. You ran your fingers through his hair, making soft soothing sounds, letting him get everything he needed out. It was a vulnerable moment for Bucky and you wouldn't intrude upon it, only help him through it however you could.

You wondered if he'd done this before, had the much needed catharsis that only came with an outpouring of emotion. You couldn't imagine that he'd have let anyone see him like this, even Steve. After all that had happened, Bucky still tried to be strong, especially for his old friend. Maybe he just needed a tender touch and a hand to hold for a little while, to let it all out.

When he finally looked up, his eyes were rimmed red and his cheeks were flushed, but there was an openness to expression that you hadn’t often seen. Sometimes, in the throes of passion, you could catch a glimpse of it: unguarded and completely at ease, nothing weighing down on his mind, dragging him back into the mental hell he often put himself through. You could see it now, though, honest and vulnerable and even somehow happy.

“Marry me,” Bucky breathed out, tilting his head up to catch your lips. You kissed him back eagerly, tears pricking at your eyes at the very thought of what he was asking. When the kiss ended, you laughed.

“You don’t have to do that,” you told him, smiling that he’d even offer. You pressed the tip of your index finger to his lips and he kissed it, moving to nuzzle at your palm and then kiss at the pulse point of your wrist. “It’s not like in your day, Buck. People have babies all the time, no shotgun weddings necessary.”

“I’d’ve asked you anyway, kid on the way or not,” Bucky revealed. He closed his eyes when you stretched out your fingers, pushing his hair away from his face to tuck behind his ear. When he opened them again they were bright, that same openness still lingering on his face. “You’re it for me, doll. Think I knew it the moment I first laid eyes on you, just didn’t wanna admit it to myself. I wanna be with you… always. Please say yes.”

It seemed that time itself stood still. You felt such a great surge of joy, your heart so full and beating so fast in your chest that you weren’t even sure you could catch your breath.

“Yes!” you finally breathed out, recognizing immediately the flashes of relief and joy in Bucky’s eyes; even that briefest expanse of time, that millisecond where you paused, had been enough to cause him to worry. “Of course I’ll marry you, Bucky, I love you!”

Bucky grinned and started to laugh. He kissed you long and deep, murmuring his happiness and his love for you against your lips, tears of joy mingling on your cheeks.


	4. Princess (Tony Stark)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Learned a lot here, have you?” Tony asked, voice barely above a whisper.
> 
> You leaned in, lips barely a hair’s breadth away from his. “What makes you think I had to learn anything, mister?” you whispered. This time, your giggle wasn’t entirely false.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains description of a panic attack and infidelity. You've been warned.

Tony had been leaning against the bar and the sudden jolt that FRIDAY’s pronouncement caused him sent a few of the small glasses stacked behind it tumbling to the floor, where they promptly shattered. He stared at you with an unreadable expression while the others murmured among themselves before offering their congratulations.

Steve was first, a soft smile on his face. “That’s wonderful news,” he told you fondly from where he sat across the room. You knew of the importance that family held to the Captain, so the news of a small bundle of joy on the way would always be welcome in his eyes. If only he knew.

“Hey, yeah,” Clint added, a little more cautiously. “Congratulations.”

You couldn’t help yourself: you started to laugh. At first it was just a low, mad giggle, but then it turned into full on belly laughs and guffaws, tears streaming down your face as you held yourself across the middle. You couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. Because you knew once the laughter stopped, the tears wouldn’t; they’d become sobs, your anxiousness and heartbreak spilling out, right in front of everyone. All because he just couldn’t leave it alone.

Natasha seemed the only one who had any sense, standing and moving quickly to your side while the others stared on in confusion. With a gentle hand on your shoulder, she guided you to sit on the couch, pulling a throw blanket around your shoulders before moving towards the bar and returning with a glass of water that she pressed into your hand. You gave her a tired, grateful smile, the laughter finally ebbing away, and sipped at it quietly, waiting to see what he’d say.

“Are you… are you not happy about this?” Steve asked quietly. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him, not in that first moment. But your reaction and the growing silence throughout the room made it clear that something was very, very wrong.

“Not exactly thrilled, no,” you told him, voice tinged with bitterness. “Didn’t have any immediate family plans in my future.”

After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, you heard Tony take a sharp inhale. You closed your eyes, knowing what was coming.

“Is it…?” he began.

You cut him off. “You know god damn well it is, Tony,” you snapped, opening your eyes to glare in his direction. “You have eyes on every nook and cranny in this compound, you would know if there was anyone else.”

That brought even the murmuring in the room to a screeching halt. Maybe they had speculated in the past, but no one ever really knew for sure. It wasn’t as though he was affectionate with you -- no more so than any of the others, anyway. No real terms of endearment, no touches or kisses in view of anyone else. This thing between you had been kept behind closed doors, at least until you put an end to it.

That was before you knew, before you started to panic when you realized.

“Have you made any decisions?” Tony asked, voice casual and unconcerned. You felt that inappropriate laughter bubbling up inside you and bit down on your lip to hold it in. “Or are you outside of the decision-making window? You don’t look it.”

“Christ, Tony, what is wrong with you?” Bruce breathed out, pinching the bridge of his nose. Tony was one of his best friends -- if not his actual best friend -- but even he had his limits.

“What? This is need to know information,” Tony replied. He moved towards the couch and sat down on large glass coffee table, shoving aside Bruce and Thor’s bowl of popcorn. You refused to meet his eyes so he reached out and took your chin in his thumb and forefinger, tipping your face up towards his own. “So, princess. Anything else I need to know?”

You reacted without thought, too fast for him to see it coming, and punched him square in the face.

 

Stay away from Tony Stark. That’s what they told you -- that is what everyone told you. He’d mellowed with time and age, or so many had thought, the billionaire playboy finally settling down, but then she’d up and left him, and his old penchants and proclivities had come back full force. SHIELD agent or not, Tony saw the twirl of a skirt and he went for it. 

But you were an adult. You could make your own choices. And you could completely see through his ridiculous attempts to chase any willing female into bed. You weren’t concerned. SHIELD was your life; you weren’t about to mess that up.

 

It all started in high school. You were only a junior, prepping for the PSAT, when an different kind of aptitude test had been announced, one that could give you a glimpse of your future, gaging your skill levels and deciding what sort of career you should pursue. Your friends had all been amused if not outright pleased with their results. Suggested careers: Be a teacher. Be a doctor. Study technology. Study business. They all opened their result envelopes with gleeful anticipation and you only frowned, your teacher apologizing that they didn’t seem to have sent over yours.

That’s when they came to the door, a man and two women, wearing black and carrying the air of military personnel, asking to speak with you. Two physical fitness exams and a lengthy psychological interview, and you no longer had plans for a college degree; you were going into SHIELD training directly out of high school. And what a wild ride it had been.

Not many knew your secret back then: that you had strength beyond what your body rightfully should carry. You were far stronger than a teenage girl should be, more agile and lithe than your frame should have allowed. If your parents knew, they pretended not to; the few close friends who did thought it was amusing more than anything, referring to you in passing as ‘Buffy’ but thinking little else. You knew better -- you had seen news reports going back years, people born with strange quirks and abilities. Mutants, they called them. At least you had a name for yourself.

SHIELD didn’t seem bothered by it. Rather, they were enthused. You had special skills, they told you. You could use them to help people. Save the world, if it called for it. And you believed them, you always believed them, through training and combat and crisis, right up until the day they tried to tell you that Captain America was a war criminal. That was one line you just couldn’t buy.

When it finally fell, the facade that had been hiding the ugly face of Hydra, you stuck by Hill. You knew if anyone was going to land on the right side of things, she would, and much to your great relief, she believed you when you explained how you had been fooled. How you had been lied to. She was the one that got you involved with the Avengers, another pair of anonymous boots on the ground when needed. You had a knack for blending in, undercover work coming especially easy to you, and that is where the whole mess with Tony began. You had already been moved into the compound permanently when it started. 

 

The club was called Heavenly, in a seedier area of the Bronx. Intel had it that they had been running drugs and sex out of the place for years, but only in recent months had they taken on a new drug they were calling ‘stardust’. Preliminary labs said it was a synthetic cocaine blended with something else, a kind of short-term metabolism booster that had eerie hallmarks of the super-soldier serum. It commanded a large price and was selling so fast that at least four new cook locations had been created to keep up with the demand. It was running exclusively out of Heavenly.

You looked young enough to play the part: a failed student, a wannabe dancer, an addict, a stripper who played fast and loose with the rules, just the sort of girl Heavenly was looking for. The cover was simple enough -- they set you up with a crummy apartment, a solid and searchable identity, and meticulously applied track mark scars. Just like the false name, the scars would hold up, the people in covert ops assuring you they wouldn’t fade for at least four months. At least.

Hopefully before you were ready head home for the holidays.

Your training in infiltration and undercover operations was more than enough to carry you through the mission. The fact that you were not at all body shy helped; the strong sedatives with pin-prick applicators you could conceal in acrylic fingernails helped even more, since it seemed each dancer at Heavenly was expected to service clients with more than lap dances. 

Once you’d learned the ropes, gained some trust, and picked up enough information on the drug-running operation that you could make a drop, they sent in your contact.

 

Tony didn’t need any long term training to visit a strip club. It was well within his wheelhouse -- had been, really, long before he was even legally allowed. And funnily enough, even though you’d found clear evidence that Hydra funds were running the operations at Heavenly, no one seemed even mildly startled that Iron Man himself was in attendance.

Because before he was one of Earth’s mightiest heroes, he was simply Tony Stark: billionaire playboy, sleazeball extraordinaire. Where scantily clad women flocked, there he could be found. And with the tabloids running tales of week long benders after his split from Pepper Potts -- tabloids could be so easily manipulated, SHIELD hadn’t even had to get involved -- nobody even blinked.

He visited three times before requesting a private dance with you. That was where things started getting complicated.

One of the younger girls who danced at Heavenly had been hurt the week prior. She had been chosen for a private dance and when the door was closed, the man who had asked for her decided he would rather put his fists to her than watch her dance. The private room had been locked and it took one of the bouncers a good ten minutes to hear her screaming. After that, private rooms were to be kept with doors open, and a bouncer just outside.

Heavenly may have been a Hydra front, but the people running it weren’t stupid, after all. If they didn’t have pretty girls willing to dance, they had no one to push their product.

 

You were on the main stage when Tony came in that night, working a routine that was basic but good enough for a Tuesday night crowd. Main stage routines went topless; anything else was restricted to a private room. You knew his eyes were on you when you slipped the clasp on the short little babydoll you wore and let it fall to the floor, a wisp of powder blue fabric falling alongside your plastic platform pumps. The music was pounding and you moved to it, dropping to your hands and knees on the floor and half-gliding, half-dragging yourself closer to the edge of the stage; they did so like it when you crawled, a few greasy palms stuffing cash into your powder blue g-string.

You sat back up on you knees and threw your head back, rolling your hips and spreading your knees a little wider on the floor before falling forward again. You swung your left leg out, catching the silver pole bolted to the stage floor, and reached out with your left arm to wrap your fingers around it and pull yourself to your feet. You swung yourself around once, then twice, in a simple pike swing, then ended with your back against the pole, dropping down to the ground with your hands over your head and your knees bent, spread wide.

“Give it up for Princess,” the surly DJ called, trying to sound excited. A smattering of applause could be heard as you gathered up a few stray pieces of cash on the stage, along with the parts of your costume you had shed, and blew a kiss to the crowd. 

You caught Tony’s eye at the bar and winked; not a tell, nothing unusual for this line of work. All of the girls had been trying to catch his eye from the first night he came in. He raised his glass to you in mock salute before tossing back the cheap whiskey that Heavenly tried to pass off as top shelf, eyes never once leaving your retreating form.

Once you were off the stage, he turned to the bartender. “That one,” he told him, nodding towards the recently vacated stage. “I want a one-on-one.”

The bartender gave him a creepy grin. “Sure thing, Mr. Smith,” he said with a knowing smile.

 

They sent another one of the girls to the dressing room to let you know you had been requested for a private dance, and you played the part of surprise mixed with elation and disgust well; you couldn’t seem too eager, but needed to look pleased for the extra money it would be throwing your way. 

“I swear to God, it’s Tony-fucking-Stark,” the other girl told you, almost shaking with glee. Her name was Julie but she danced as ‘Sugar’; she looked near to your age but pretended to be younger, hair bleached blonde and teased into curls, wearing too much eye shadow and enough lip gloss to slick her way through a dozen blowjobs where necessary.

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, what’d he be doing in a dump like this?” you told her.

Julie pressed one bubble gum pink nailed hand against her ample chest. “Hand to God, honey, hand to God. If that ain’t Tony Stark, I’ll give Creepy Keith a freebie, I swear.”

You laughed again. “Now there’s an offer you don’t want anybody hearing,” you told her, and moved towards the mirror to prep quickly. Your stage name of ‘Princess’ carried with it a certain appeal to some men, and you played it up with your costumes: babydolls and chemises, often in pale pastel colors. You went with pale pink for Tony’s private dance, a lace front g-string with a matching babydoll top, lacy cups each topped with a white satin bow and silky sheer pink material that hung down to just barely cover your ass. It was removed easily, with a simple tug on thin ties between your breasts that held it together. Your pink lace-topped thigh-high stockings were a perfect match for the set.

“What do you think?” you asked Julie, dusting yourself once over with a glittery body powder that was always kept on hand; it was edible and smelled like cotton candy.

Julie grinned. “Go get’im, Princess!” She called.

 

They had put Tony in the nicest private room at Heavenly, all thick plush carpet and leather couches, a decanter of whiskey and a tumbler on a table, just waiting. The door was left open, a well-built bouncer named Billy stationed just outside. He would be able to get to you in seconds if you needed him, but would have to turn his head to see what as happening inside. The room was dim, dull lighting with pink neon accents lights in the corners, the walls painted a deep shade of magenta to accentuate the mood. 

“Hi there,” you called sweetly as you stepped inside. “A little birdie told me you could use some company.”

Tony watched you with dark eyes, leaning back in his seat on the couch. “What’s your name, beautiful?” he asked.

You giggled. It sounded false even to your own ears, but that was fine. Even Billy the bouncer knew what this was -- just business, nothing more.

“My friends call me Princess,” you told him, taking slow steps towards him. “D’ya want to be my friend, mister?”

Tony groaned and held out a hand to you. “I think I’d like that very much, Princess.”

You giggled again and took his hand, letting him guide you forward to sit in his lap, knees pressing into the leather cushions on either side of his thighs. You locked eyes and you smiled, trying to remember your place here, the role you were playing; trying not to think of him as the man you would see almost daily, who had invited you into his home and let you carve out a space of your own.

The man who cheated at cards but was a stickler to the rules of Monopoly, who made you cocktails of soda water and grenadine at parties because he knew you didn’t like to drink, and programmed FRIDAY to refer to you as ‘Buffy’ or ‘The Slayer’ after learning of your teenage nickname.

“You wanna have a party, mister?” you asked coyly. “I could dance for you. I could give you a special performance right here.” You punctuated your words with a roll of your hips against his groin, not missing the way Tony sucked in a deep breath at the action.

“Sounds good, Princess,” he told you, words tumbling out on a low groan.

You giggled again, high and girlish. “I thought so,” you agreed, lips dropped close enough to his ear that his hair moved gently with the motion of your breath; close, but not touching. You stood and near-pranced to the corner to cue up the stereo system. You danced your way back to him when the song started to play: an extended loop of MS MR, ‘Dark Doo Wop’.

You hit your knees on the floor in front of Tony and crawled towards him on all fours, watching as his eyes widened at the action, and you gave him a knowing smirk. This may have been an op, just a part of the game you had been playing to garner intel without your mark knowing, but you knew you were winding him up. Tony hadn’t made a move on you at all since you’d known him, but you’d seen the way his eyes followed you. You’d felt his stare across the compound gym, when you ran on a treadmill in a pair of tight-fit shorts at accentuated some of your best assets.

You’d seen the way he watched you writhe on the stage all these nights, the way he gripped his drink a little tighter when you bared your breasts. Maybe it was the age difference or some lingering thoughts of decorum between team members that held him back, but for whatever reason, he kept his hands to himself. It didn’t mean that he wanted to.

You stretched your hands up over his thighs and then up his chest, kneeling until you gained even leverage to pull yourself up, biting your lip to hold back your grin as he gasped in surprise.

“Learned a lot here, have you?” Tony asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned in, lips barely a hair’s breadth away from his. “What makes you think I had to learn anything, mister?” you whispered. This time, your giggle wasn’t entirely false.

You danced. You gyrated. You stood to let him watch you move, then took your place back in his lap, your back firm against his chest and your body astride one of his thighs.

“You want to help me, mister?” you asked, taking one of his hands in yours. 

Rules of the game meant he had to keep them at his sides, palms flat against the leather cushions, unless he paid a premium -- or you invited him to play. You guided his hand, to the tie of your babydoll top, letting him unknot the silken laces so that it fell open. Even if Billy the bouncer had been looking in on you, he never could have seen the tiny microchip you had knotted into the ties or the way that Tony quickly palmed it.

You moaned as you gave a low dirty grind against his thigh. The information drop had been made but the song wasn’t over yet -- it had to look real. A quick shudder of your shoulders dropped the babydoll from your skin, falling into the narrows space between your bodies that you were quick to close once it was gone. Tony was breathing hard and you could feel that he was affected, his body reacting to the pressure and motion of yours against him.

Dropping your head to his shoulder, you moaned again, softer this time, right against his ear. You could feel his eyes following the curves of your body, his breath coming fast over your shoulder, even the soft rush of warm air across your bare breast making you shiver. When you would grind your hips in time to the music, Tony would gently push his thigh up against the heat of your core.

“Go on princess,” Tony whispered. He turned his head and you gasped, feeling his lips brush against your neck. “You know you want to. Take it.”

Of course he knew. Tony had a perfect view of your body; he could see the way your nipples had hardened without even being touched, could feel the dewy wetness between your thighs as you writhed against him. You were already so close, almost trembling with need.

Tony reached up and ran his fingertips down through the valley between your breasts.

“Go on,” Tony whispered again, and you couldn’t resist. 

You pressed your ass back against him and ground down on his thigh, reveling in the soft grunt he made as you did and the twitch of his cock in his pants. He kept egging you on, whispering in your ear, touching you almost innocently, even as you panted, your breaths becoming shaky, sparks of pleasure coursing through you. You weren’t even pretending this was a lapdance anymore; you were wanton, head thrown back, taking your pleasure like it was owed to you.

There was no way to stop the cry that tore from your lips when you climaxed, the pressure of Tony’s thigh against your cunt and the feel of his hands on your skin far too much for you to take. You were still shivering through the aftershocks when you rolled your body just right and he gripped hard at your hips, his face buried in your neck to stifle the groan from his own orgasm.

 

You were supposed to stay a few more weeks after the drop, just to keep up appearances. For the time being, SHIELD would be monitoring and limiting the drug trade as much as possible, but not shutting down the club outright; they needed to follow the money, see how and where it was funneling into Hydra, and what it was being used for. Tony visited twice more within a week’s time, completely off the books; he bought a private dance each time, and you were more than happy to oblige.

You found an exit much sooner than expected, when Billy the bouncer pulled you aside one night after your turn on the main stage.

“You don’t have to do this,” he told you quietly, pressing a folded paper into your hand. “There are ways out.”

You eyed him skeptically. “Why you tellin’ me?” you asked, fearing you had been made.

He have you a sad, soft smile. “I’ve seen too many girls pass through here. Ones who don’t really want to be here. You can get out. There’s help if you need it.”

He walked away then and you were surprised to see the paper he had handed you was a pamphlet for a church not far off. It seemed as though they had a program to help women get back on their feet, if they wanted out of the life. It was enough for you to call it quits ahead of schedule, surprising the others when you showed up in the communal lounge at the compound weeks ahead of schedule.

Tony had been speaking animatedly to Bruce when you walked in, the details of it escaping you; you were by no means unintelligent but they were still on an entirely different wavelength, a lot of what they babbled back and forth sounding like little more than nonsense to you if you didn’t pay close attention.

His dark eyes zeroed in on you as soon as you stepped into the room, duffel bag with what few belongings you had brought with you slung over your shoulder. 

“Well hey there, princess,” he called cheerfully. “Back so soon?”

It was early evening and the lights had yet to kick in, so you hoped no one had seen you blush. Case files for any covert operation were kept confidential, strictly need-to-know; though the others knew it involved a strip club, they knew little else. Not a soul knew you danced under the name Princess but Tony. They must have assumed it was another one of his habitual nicknames. You tried to pretend you believed as much, even as you felt heat pooling low inside you at the memories it drew to mind.

“Got my walking papers a little early,” you replied with a smile. 

“Good to have you back,” Steve called in his usual friendly tone; he and Bucky were seated at the side table, their habitual place in the room, with what looked to be an ongoing game of gin rummy between them.

You smiled. “Good to be home,” you responded.

Tony stood from the couch. “As long as you’re here, we may as well go over some of the data you handed over. I have a couple questions before we debrief. You game?”

“Sure thing,” you told him, nodding. “Let me drop by bag and get cleaned up, and I’ll meet you…?” He was already heading for the door, having quickly made his apologies to Bruce.

“I have the chip on my personal setup, just swing by my place once you’re through,” Tony told you casually, and took a swift path down the corridor. You watched him go a long moment before turning in the opposite direction to reach your own rooms.

 

You were by no means stupid. This was Tony Stark after all; a flick of a finger on a holographic display would be all that was needed to pull files from his private server, or a simple vocal request to FRIDAY. He wanted you in his quarters for a reason, and you had a fair idea just what that reason must be.

You dropped your bag in your own room and freshened up quickly, slipping out of your travel clothes and into a quick shower. You hemmed and hawed over what to wear far longer than you’d ever admit, settling on a simple cotton shift dress. It was a little cold for it that time of year, but it wasn’t as though you’d be venturing out of doors; besides, it wasn’t an unusual clothing choice for you when kicking around the compound.

You made your way down to Tony’s suite, pausing to greet Clint as you went, having not seen him since returning, looking composed and completely at ease in spite of the nerves all scrambled and frazzled inside of you. Not that it was surprising -- you were well trained in covert missions, after all. You could fake it with the best of them.

You hesitated outside of Tony’s door. You knew exactly what you were walking into. It just remained to be seen whether or not you could deal with the consequences. Heaving a deep breath, you knocked.

The door was open before you could even knock twice. The sound poured out into the corridor, Tony’s music thundering down the hallway. Iggy Pop today, loud enough to shake the walls if not for the soundproofing that Tony had built into the compound. When the door close, it would take the sound with it.

He had stripped out of the long-sleeved tee he had been wearing and answered the door in a sleeveless black shirt, the type you’d only seen him wear in the gym or when he was working late into the night. You’d always forget certain things about Tony, when his bravado and overdone personality eclipsed the sides of him that he didn’t often present to the public; when called to mine, you’d imagine Tony in a tailored suit or his Iron Man gear, not stripped down to wear you could see his strong arms and hints at a chest well-toned in spite of his scars.

Tony quirked his head to the side, dark eyes drifting down your form and back up again to meet your gaze. “You coming in?” he asked, sound nonchalant.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Yeah, of course,” you said, and gave him a small smile. He stepped aside to let you pass and closed the door behind you when you stepped inside.

At least, you thought he did. It was a little hard to tell, what with your legs already around his waist and his lips claiming yours in what felt like a feral, claiming kiss.

The music was pounding and Tony’s hands were all over you. He lifted and carried you with a strength you often forgot he had, knocking some artful knickknacks off a sideboard to set you on it instead, hands already under your dress to tug your panties down.

“Why haven’t we done this before, huh?” he asked, breath coming fast.

“Couldn’t tell ya,” you responded, hands fussing with his belt and then his fly. You paused only to let him kiss you again, hungry and breathtaking, dragging his lips down to your throat. You let out a cry when you felt his hand slide between your thighs and he chuckled darkly, promising you all that you wanted and more

You went back to finish what you started, unconsciously rocking your hips with the motion of his hands. You moaned when he grazed his fingertips over just the right spot, throwing your head back to knock against the wall and not even feeling any pain. Recovering enough to push his jeans and boxers down his hips, you couldn’t help the way you gasped at the sight of him springing free, thick and hard against his belly.

Tony gave you a playful waggle of his eyebrows and then jerked you forward unexpectedly, slamming inside of you and setting a punishing pace. The sideboard creaked and groaned beneath you, your wanton cries loud and unchecked, the music blasting around you. It was fast and it was dirty and it was god damn fantastic; you screamed his name as you came, so loud that your throat felt rough in the aftermath.

He finished inside you, chuckling when he was through, pressing his face against your chest through the soft cotton of your dress. 

“That was… one helluva welcome home,” you panted, smiling.

Tony looked up at you, a devilish glint in his eyes. “Oh, you don’t think I’m finished with you yet tonight, do you princess?”

You crept back to your own room a little after sunrise; no one noticed.

 

After that, it became a regular occurrence. Not every night, not enough to rouse suspicion. You’d know what he was thinking, when you’d see his velvety brown eyes grow a shade or two darker, and he’d pass some lame excuse your way.

_Did you get a copy of the new mission specs?_

_Are you seriously still running on 4.0, princess? Bring your tablet by so I can update the firmware._

_I need an extra pair of hands in the lab, want to give me a hand?_

 

No one blinked. It was all so normal. He may as well have been asking the weather, finding easy excuses if someone else responded to your cue before you did and finding innumerable reasons to get you alone. And you went for it -- you always went for it.

Four and a half months in and you were sleeping in his bed more than your own, even as he laid awake beside you half of the time, tossing and turning and eventually pulling you close to his chest, grabbing a couple hours of sleep with his face pressed into your hair. 

Sometimes you didn’t even bother sneaking back to your own room. The compound was vast and living quarters kept well apart for privacy’s sake, so no one else seemed to catch you. Not even once.

 

You made your way into Tony’s private living area one evening, a little less than an hour after he had glibly noted how appalling it was that you’d never seen Alien and demanded you join him for an impromptu viewing of the film and its sequel. He even took the chance to extend the invitation to Steve and Natasha, who had been in the lounge at the time.

“I’ve actually seen that one,” Steve had told him with a shrug. “I liked the sequel better.”

Natasha shook her head and paged through a magazine she had in her lap. “I don’t do sci-fi,” she said.

You’d ran back to your own room to slip into a sexy little bra and panty set you had picked up the weekend prior, pale pink lace with white ribbons. You’d spotted it out of the corner of your eye when shopping with Natasha for a dress for an upcoming formal banquet you’d all be attending, and hadn’t been able to resist.

You knew Tony would appreciate it.

He never did tell you what triggered it, the first time. Rather than waiting with a drink in hand and a flirty smile, you found Tony sitting on the floor in front of his artful white suede sofa. He was pale and sweating, one hand braced on the floor like he was trying to push himself up from the floor but couldn’t quite make it, his legs folded under him on the hardwood floor.

“Tony?” you asked, frowning. He didn’t have any music on, or a television playing anywhere in the background. That wasn’t like him; he seemed almost always to need some white noise nearby. He didn’t even look up when you said his name and your eyes widened as you stepped closer, realizing that he was shaking.

“Tony!” you shouted in alarm, running to skid to your knees beside him. For a moment you thought he was having a heart attack or some kind of stroke; he’d often assured you that his health was pristine, now that he no longer needed an arc reactor sunken into his chest cavity, but it didn’t stop your concern. You often fear his age and the hard-partying days of his younger years would catch up to him too soon.

He gripped your forearm as soon as you landed next to him, hands cold and clammy. 

“Can’t breathe,” he said, shaking his head, chest heaving. That was when you realized that he was having a panic attack.

You’d known about his problems with anxiety; everyone did, really. No matter how large the compound was, all of the team spent so much time together that eventually it came out. He struggled -- not unexpected, in this line of work. Everyone had their problems to deal with. You’d just never seen him like this before, and it frightened you.

“C’mon, Tony, breathe with me,” you instructed quietly, taking the hand he gripped you with and pressing it to your chest. “Five in, ten out. You know how. C’mon.” You made sure he felt you drawing breath in, counting to five, and then letting it out slower, easier, counting to ten. You might not have been through this with Tony before, but you’d been through it yourself once or twice.

“Can’t… can’t…” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Yes you can, baby, c’mon, just like me, just like I’m showing you, count with me,” you urged, voice soft, not pressuring. “One… two…”

It took some time, but his breathing started to normalized, the color coming back to his cheeks. You waited until he was ready to speak; you knew he was out of the woods when he turned to you with an eyebrow raised. 

“So I’m ‘baby’ now?” he asked. You laughed hard, relief washing over you, a few tears slipping loose from your eyes. 

“Yeah, maybe,” you said, reaching to push the sweaty strands of his hair out of his eyes. “Play your cards right and we’ll see.” Tony smiled and let out a long whoosh of breath, leaning into you and pressing his face into your chest. You sat there for the longest time, just holding him.

You stayed with him that night, slept curled around each other. You were the lying awake for a change, Tony exhausted by his ordeal and in a deep, dreamless sleep for a change. You watched him, his slow and steady breaths, the relaxed expression on his face, well into the morning hours.

 

That was probably what did you in, you realized later. You had seen him vulnerable. Broken. Sometimes it seemed that Tony’s image was everything to him, and he didn’t like anyone paying any attention to the man behind the curtain. You should have known. You should have seen it coming.

The banquet was everything you hated about being a part of the Avengers’ team, even if only in the background. You were relegated to the end of the table with Hill and a few others who worked closely with team, but even from there you could see how two floosies from the catering staff had attached themselves to Tony. The giggled and flirted while they served dinner and you rolled your eyes, trying to keep your expression neutral even as you imagined dragging them out of the room by their over-dyed, over-teased hair.

It wasn’t even them, you realized; it was him. It was all Tony. The way he smiled at them. The way he encouraged their behavior. The way his hand slipped down the ass of the bolder of the two, the little half-smile he gave her.

“You might want to unclench,” Maria spoke up, catching your attention.

“Huh?” you asked, glancing up only to follow her gaze to your hand, where you’d gripped your fork so tightly you’d bent it in half. Your face heated in embarrassment and Maria gave a knowing nod.

“Maybe stop thinking about snapping their necks,” she advised sagely.

You could have dealt even with the flirting, you thought, if not for what happened on the way out. The evening was officially over and you were more than ready to retire to the compound; you figured you would freeze Tony out for a few days, let him know you were angry.

You didn’t expect the back door of the limousine that carried you to the party to open and for both girls to spill out, giggling and unkempt, with Tony right behind them. He barely spared you a look as he passed, just a hapless shrug.

You didn’t speak to him for three days, finally erupting when he made one of his coded invitations for you to join him in his bedroom.

“Are you kidding me?” you asked, slamming his door behind you as you stalked inside, hands on your hips.

Tony looked up nonchalantly. “Problem, princess?” he asked.

You glared. “You literally just fucked two women in the back of a limo and you’re just expecting me to just climb into bed with you.”

He shrugged. “Don’t think we ever talked about making this exclusive,” he told you. His demeanor was so calm; it was infuriating.

You gave a short laugh. “Right,” you agreed. “You’re absolutely right, Tony. We never had a sit-down discussion about what it meant that I’ve been screwing you on the regular for almost six months but hey, since we didn’t hash it all out or put it down on paper, I guess I shouldn’t be offended.”

“Look, I never made you any promises…” Tony started, pouring himself a drink as though you were discussing nothing more important than the weather.

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Tony,” you snapped, and stalked away.

 

Things had been tense since then, and only gotten worse when your annual SHIELD physical came up. The examining doctor had been happy to tell you that you were in perfect health and, better still, your eight week pregnancy was progressing nicely.

You’d actually fainted at that point. Thankfully you’d still been seated on the exam table, so you just collapsed back onto the mildly uncomfortable cushioning.

Logically, it made sense; you and Tony had been pretty reckless, playing fast and loose with precautions, when you even remembered. It was the enormity of the thing that was leaving you breathless.

Because you wanted it -- he, she, it, or god forbid even them. Once the news had sunk in, it was though your mind couldn’t entertain any other option. This was it, you were going to be a mother.

An unwed mother of Tony Stark’s bastard child, but, that was beside the point. You shouldn’t have been at all surprised that he could be such a dick about it but then, he’d already surprised you pretty well by then, constantly taunting you, poking at you, nagging you since you had made a permanent end to your trysts. Like he wanted to get under your skin.

 

Which was how you found yourself shaking with fury, Natasha’s hand on your arm to keep you from doing anything stupid, like hitting him. Again. 

He was sitting up again, blood splattered down the front of his shirt, a handkerchief held to his nose as he stared you down with a frown.

“Was that really necessary?” Tony asked, voice somewhat muffled.

“Yes. Absolutely,” you told him with a nod, leaning forward with your head in your hands.

“If we give you two some privacy, you won’t kill him, right?” Natasha asked, nodding towards Tony as she spoke.

You frowned. “I make no guarantees,” you told her, and she shrugged.

“Good enough for me,” Natasha told you with a sigh, and stood. A quick glance at Clint and he was following her out of the room, Bruce right on their heels. 

Steve and Bucky were quick to follow; Steve placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder as he passed, expression sympathetic. You gave him a tight smile in return. At least, you thought, you would have support from some members of the team.

 

Tony eyed you warily. “You gonna hit me again?” he asked.

“No,” you said, voice low, eyes on the floor. “Not now, anyway.”

Tony sighed. “What… what do you want me to say here, princess?”

You glanced up sharply. “You could start by not calling me by my stripper name.”

“I never thought of it like that,” Tony admitted. His voice was… different. There was a quality to it that you didn’t really recognize, hadn’t hearad before. “I just… I don’t know, I thought it was cute. Suited you.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well. Cute gets you knocked up these days, apparently.”

“Nicknames don’t make that happen, sweetheart. If you want, I can draw you a diagram,” Tony teased, and knocked his knees against yours.

You closed your eyes and turned your head to the side, laughing in spite of yourself. The laughter ended on a short sigh and when you looked up at him, you had tears in your eyes.

“I’m not… I don’t want anything from you,” you told him carefully. “I need you to know that. This wasn’t planned, but I’m not…”

He nodded slowly. “You’re keeping it,” he said, not really a question. His voice was flat. Hollow.

You nodded. “It’s not about you, Tony. It’s about me. What I want. And I thought about it, believe me, I’ve thought about it long and hard. And I want this.”

“You want a baby, I get that, but there’s a lot of better choices for a pop out there,” Tony told you, shaking his head. He swabbed at his nose with his handkerchief and then stuffed it in his back pocket, the bleeding having stopped.“Hell, there’s a lot of better choices even under this roof. You’re young, you have time to have a family.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Tony…” you started.

He held up his hands as if in surrender. “I’m not trying to talk you out of it,” he said quickly. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this. Never could figure out why you’d want anything to do with me, let alone be havin’ my kid now.”

“Because I’m in love with you, you shit,” you said, and kicked him in the shin. “How did the billionaire genius miss that?”

Tony looked at you with a softness in those beautiful brown eyes of his. “Of course I didn’t miss it,” he told you. “Do you think I’d have screwed everything up so badly otherwise?”

You sighed, pushing the blanket off of your shoulders, and dropping back against your seat on the couch.

“You’re such a cliche,” you told him, shaking your head again. “We both are. You running from anything even remotely seeming like intimacy. Me, falling for the flashy egotistical douchebag. We’re gonna make awesome parents.”

“I…” Tony started, and frowned, heaving a deep breath before trying again. He said your name softly, placing a gentle hand on your knee. “I don’t know how to be a father. I don’t know how. I’m way out of my depth here.”

You snorted. “Yeah and I’m just mother of the year,” you said dryly. “Jesus Tony, you think I have any idea what I’m doing here? Two months pregnant with the baby of a philandering manchild, for god’s sake. I’m running blind. But I’m not running away.”

Tony stared at you for a long time, pushing your hair out of your eyes and then gently cupping your face. You betrayed your own resolve and closed your eyes, leaning into your touch.

“Take me back?” he asked quietly.

You opened your eyes and raised your brow. “I thought I never really had you. I mean, we never sat down and talked about it.”

“Yeah, yeah, eating my own words here, I know,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. You tried not to smile; damn him for being like this. Damn him for being so broken. For being so perfect. For being so god damned cute. 

“You alway had me, princess,” Tony told you. “Hook, line, and sinker.”

“You fucked up, Tony,” you said. There were those tears in your eyes again; damn hormones. “You fucked up really badly.”

“I know,” Tony said gravely. “I know. I have no excuses. But I can promise it will never happen again.”

“We can discuss it,” you offered evenly. “Maybe put it in writing. I guess I can take you back.”

He smiled at you then, not the patented Tony Stark, Billionaire-Genius-Philanthropist smile, but a softer, sweeter smile. One that you hadn’t gotten to see very often.

He leaned forward and kissed you gently, then pressed his forehead to yours, hand still caressing your face.

He smiled again. “Let’s have a baby, princess.”


End file.
